I’m sitting on a step at my daughter’s with my left foot in a basin of very cold water.  This is the result of my too-eager participation in demolishing a greenhouse!  A metal bar fell on my foot.  Ouch! We’re going to A & E once my daughter has got her toddler ready.  Waiting time is about 90 minutes so we’ll need snacks, toys and books.  I suspect that on this sunny spring Sunday there will be quite a few DIY and gardening casualties.

 
I’m reading Ann Karpf’s book How to Age. She looks at attitudes held by society and individuals over the past century.  Many younger people worry about signs of ageing, having Botox and fillers in their twenties, while my contemporaries (me included) go on using anti-ageing serum (just in case it works) and colouring our hair.  Some get expensive dental implants.  I can relate to that.  Growing up in the Fifties, pre-fluoride, dentists programmed to extract, our teeth, like those in the horse’s mouth,  are a dead give away.  Where our grandparents had gleaming white dentures by 60, we have crowns, bridges and discoloured incisors.  I went to a new dentist for a check up last week to be told that my dental hygiene is good.  She didn’t say ‘They should see you out’, but I was thinking it.

My foot wasn’t broken and I am very happy to be having coffee and a muffin in a Dundee coffee shop two days later.  Having a foot in plaster would have meant serious adjustments to my plans for the week.  Needing help and not being able to just do what I want would be hard.  And yet it is what ageing means for some.  Loss of independence was what my mother found most difficult.  Meantime I ‘m looking forward to afternoon tea to celebrate a friend’s 70th, completing a course in Paediatric First Aid tonight and time with my son and grandson tomorrow.  Life is good!